


The First Night We Spend Together

by TatyanaIvanshov



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: 1558, Chev is so soft with his baby, Feeding, First Meetings, First Time, Guiche can fuck off to hell, I Made Myself Cry, Innocent Philippe Cuz He a Baby, M/M, Past Abuse, Philippe will break your heart, Slow Dancing, Smut, Teenagers, Tenderness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, so will Chev, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatyanaIvanshov/pseuds/TatyanaIvanshov
Summary: It is 1658 at the Palais Royale.Philippe, the Duc d'Anjou is playing cards with his older brother one night when fate throws his was an angel that changes his life forever.
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	The First Night We Spend Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fulyric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulyric/gifts).



> Warning: You will die of softness. 
> 
> This took SOO long to finish because I wanted it to be perfect! I have worked on it for 2 whole ass weeks and here it is, so forget every other meeting you have ever imagined, THIS IS IT AND IT'S PERFECT, AND IT'S ALEX APPROVED. 
> 
> I tried to base it off of history as much as I could but also with the show so I think I found a nice middle. Philippe will destroy you with softness and the Chevalier is the perfect boyfriend as usual, unlike Guiche who should burn in hell. 
> 
> On that note,  
> Enjoy!

Philippe felt beautiful. 

For the first time in weeks, he was able to slip on a gown and decorate himself with all the jewels and ribbons in his possession as, finally, the Spanish emissaries sent to arrange a match for the King had left and Louis was no longer pressuring him to be on his best behavior. He patted his plump lips with the most expensive rouge he owned and had his hair tied up with his favorite golden hairpins gifted to him by a past lover as he slipped on a pair of stockings that had golden ribbons hanging from their hem.

He hopped in front of the mirror, admiring his work, his heart racing and his skin tingling with excitement. Philippe felt so beautiful, studying the way loose locks of hair curled down his face and gave him an elegant, feminine look that always got him strutting in front of the mirror, dancing around as he showcased the new-found confidence that took over him. 

“Your Royal Highness, the King requests your presence.” A young man with his head hung low spoke, waiting for Philippe, who slipped on his favorite pair of shoes with heels so high, most women would envy, and followed out into the hallways of the Palais Royale. 

He strutted towards the ballroom where he knew his brother would be waiting and with a smile, took his place on the King’s left.

“What are you wearing?” Louis grit his teeth, trying to remain calm as they were ushered inside. 

“It is new, brother. Do you like it?” He asked, eyes shimmering as he looked up at Louis who remained stone-faced even as he watched his brother show off all angles of his gown. 

“No. You look like a woman.” His eyebrows knit together and his anger was evident in his tone. 

“I believe those were my intentions.” Philippe grinned, straightening himself up. 

“Were your intentions also to look like a common whore?” Louis spat, sending a jolt of pain through his brother’s chest. Louis was often mean; sometimes he would tease Philippe until he had to run out crying but he was rarely so blunt and never used such language. 

“I- I thought…” 

“You thought wrong. You are lucky there are no particularly special guests that would require you to be in proper attire tonight.” The King adjusted his cuffs before patting his overcoat to prepare for a grand entrance. 

“Surely they would not care for my choice of attire.” Philippe’s smile had faltered and his shoulders slumped as he laced his dainty hands together in front of himself, fingernail digging into the skin of his thumb.

“It is about appearance, my dear brother. It is not a matter of whether it would jeopardize business but rather how we present ourselves. You cannot go around parading yourself like this forever. You’re not a child any longer.” He was about to go on speaking when the clicking of heels approached. 

“My dear sons.” Queen Anne smiled as she reached them, placing a kiss on Philippe’s forehead and another on Louis’. 

“Hello, mother.” Louis smiled. “Would you tell Philippe to stop this nonsense? He refuses to listen to me.”

“Oh, he is only having a bit of fun.” Anne took her position next to Louis and combed through a strand of misplaced hair with her fingers. 

“A bit of fun?” He repeated in disbelief. “It was fun when he was a child, mother. He must learn to dress like a real gentleman and present himself so. To stop these meaningless dalliances.” 

“They’re not meaningless!” Philippe insisted, growing tired of how they spoke about him as if he were not there. 

“Philippe, listen to your brother. He knows best.” Anne commented. 

“You mean to tell me you care for that brute, the Comte de Guiche?” Louis turned to Philippe who had lost his excitement and now had wrapped his arms over his chest in an attempt to appear smaller.

“I do. He cares for me.” Monsieur said, convincing no one, especially not himself.

“Is that what you told yourself when you were lying on the floor with a bruised rib?” Louis bit back and it stung. 

“Louis, that’s enough.” His mother took the King’s arm.

“He simply did not recognize me.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.” His brother huffed out a laugh, knowing very well he had struck Philippe where it hurt most and turned towards the shut doors. “Shall we?” He asked their mother who nodded. 

The double doors were swung open by the two large men positioned on each side and a room full of couriers came into view. Chatter and music all halted, the fresh scent of baked goods flooding the hallways from the room. 

“His Majesty, the King. Her Majesty, the Queen Anne d’Austricht. And His Royal Highness, Philippe, Duc d'Anjou.” The announcer called, hushing those that still had not noticed their royal presence. It all went silent as they walked in, Louis positioning himself at the head of the large table where they would each take a seat pulled out by servants. 

Philippe remained silent, hiding further into himself, behind Louis who began giving a speech as he always did. He rambled for a while but the Prince was too lost, gazing around the room to find anyone worth a second glance. The next thing he knew, Louis was holding up a glass and proposing a toast to which Philippe nodded and drank. 

He ate whatever dinner he could stomach in silence, unwilling to look up or speak to anyone, still bitter from the earlier conversation. At one point, he caught his own reflection in a large window and the exhilaration from earlier had dissolved. He looked upon himself and Louis’ voice rang in his ears, and he began to question whether he did look like a common whore when dressed like this. His brother had a way with words, whether they be towards his people to inspire and satisfy or towards Philippe to tease and hurt. He always twisted the knife and tonight was no different. 

The entertainment came next, and everyone had joined the King for a game of cards and all Philippe wanted to do was retire to his rooms. He hated sitting and watching, an ornament meant to appear beautiful for the King’s delight. He hated it. But he knew Louis would make a scene if he requested leave and he wasn’t up for it. 

Time passed slowly and he was growing weary of his brother winning game after game, well aware that none of his opponents would dare beat the King. 

“My dear brother!” Louis’ voice came as a surprise, snapping Monsieur out of his daze. “Would you care to join me for a game?” Philippe tried to not roll his eyes. Louis loved to tease him of how bad he was at cards when in fact, with a good hand, he could beat Louis quite easily but his mother would be displeased and he did not wish to embarrass his brother in public, arguing with himself that he already did that enough by simply being his brother. 

“Would that be necessary?” A reluctant Philippe asked. 

“Come. Sit. Let us play. You would do well to loosen up.” Louis held up a glass, already way too deep in his drink. Now Philippe was sure they were letting him win. 

Monsieur glanced around the room to see all eyes on him, the pressures of accepting the King’s proposal were too much so he caved. He nodded and took a seat in front of his brother who asked for his glass to be refilled. Philippe smiled at Henriette, their dear friend that sat at Louis’ side. She was quite beautiful with blonde curls and a warm grin Philippe had always admired. Though Henriette was not always nice to Philippe, often taking Louis’ side and choosing to throw stones at his brother’s command, he liked her as she’d been a dear friend of his since they were children. 

They waited for the cards to be handed from the deck to each player as Louis and Henriette kept themselves busy with chatter and giggles. Philippe hated watching them flirt like that as it was apparent Louis was stringing the poor girl along with complete disregard for her genuine feelings that she had confessed to Philippe during a walk in the gardens one morning. 

He picked up the cards fanned them out before him to study his hand… a bad one. Even if he did not let Louis win, the chances of him being able to in the first place were slim, especially considering the smug smile on his brother’s face. 

“After you, my dear brother.” Anyone that would hear such words would think of Louis so tender and kind towards his sibling when in reality they were empty words of mockery that had Philippe curl further into himself in his seat. He picked a card and laid it out, uninterested in winning anymore. There was no point in angering his brother. 

Louis smiled at the card, retaliating with one that Philippe knew he wouldn’t be able to beat. He never could and there was no point. 

It was then that he felt it, a soft breath against his cheek, a warmth that radiated from behind, and it was odd the way he almost lent into the comfort it resonated. Before he could turn to find who would be so bold as to approach the Prince so closely, he heard them chuckle, one so hearty and tender, his heart gave a little tingle at its sound. The being smelled of peaches, and Philippe could not move when he felt this breath even closer to his ear. 

“What an atrocious hand.” The strange man huffed and the Prince shivered under the sudden contact. “You will soon enough suffer defeat if you continue playing so dreadfully, my dear.” The man had the softest voice, as if woven from silk and Philippe stiffened in his seat, unable to come up with a response. 

In a swift movement, he turned his head to look up at him, only for his breath to be caught in his throat at the sight. His face was so near, he could feel his body’s heat, and Monsieur was baffled at the way his body reacted to the intensity of this stranger’s gaze. 

The man was so beautiful, a youthful glow radiating off of his unmarked skin, that Philippe wondered what it would feel like under his fingertips. His hair was a thousand shades of gold as the sun at its peak, incandescent under candlelight and his eyes were the most complex shade of turquoise, gazing at him in a moment of softness. His button nose sat perfectly above his plush lips that had been slightly tinted red, the corners of which tilted up into what looked like a smirk at first but slowly melted into a more genuine beam. 

Philippe was at a loss for words as he looked at the resplendent creature until the words he had just spoken registered and he was filled with a rush of anger. His lips parted and so did the man’s, waiting for a word but nothing came out. 

The annoyance towards his brother wove with this stranger’s disrespectful boldness and he felt, for a moment, he would very much like to punch him. How dare he speak like that to a Prince of France? But the stranger smiled and turned to look forward, giving the Prince a perfect view of his side profile at which, somehow, his lips looked even more enticing and the urge to reach over and kiss him was too strong. 

“But, it is no matter. If you choose your cards correctly, I believe you may have a chance.” He spoke again, his voice sounding even better this time. 

God himself must’ve crafted this angel because it would be impossible to look like that if the divine had not had a hand in it. 

Philippe had utterly forgotten the game and the cards he held until Louis cleared his throat and the Prince’s attention snapped towards his brother, looking rather unimpressed at the intruder who was now studying Philippe’s cards. Monsieur noticed how the blonde’s hand was dazzled by several rings as he pointed at a single card and Philippe got the message. Without question, surprising even himself, he pulled the chosen card out of the fan and laid it upon the table, Louis’ reaction immediately displeased. 

Philippe turned to the blonde once more, trying to find words to speak, say anything to replace the silence but he pulled away from over his shoulder and strolled over to his right side to take a seat at the empty space by the Prince’s side. 

Philippe noticed someone in the room bringing to the King’s attention the help Monsieur was receiving and he looked at him with pleading eyes, silently asking for permission. Or help. He did not know which one. Louis looked dissatisfied- but when was that new- as he glanced between his brother and the blonde at his side, trying to decide upon a proper reaction. 

“I’m sure his Majesty will not mind.” The stranger smiled at Philippe before turning toward the drunk King. “Why win against one when you can win against two?” He waited for a response as Philippe’s eyes did not leave his perfect face, admiring each curve of it and the way his voice rose and fell, and everything about him more graceful than any woman at court.

“Very well. What’s one more?” Louis looked around the room at the approving courtiers that urged him on, too caught up in his drink and Henriette under his arm to care for Philippe. “My brother would not win against a child, anyway.” Uncomfortable laughs that the King didn’t read into filled the room, humoring Louis at Monsieur’s expense. 

The Prince shifted in his seat, his head lowering almost instinctively as he gripped harder at his cards to bite back a response. He hated this feeling- humiliation, and anger at the same time, his cheeks burning hot as a lump formed in his throat. 

It was sudden but when he felt a gentle hand run over his back, barely noticeable through the corset, his anger subsided and he turned to the man who looked like he’d been the one on the receiving end of Louis’ sharp tongue and for a moment, Philippe was too tempted to reach out and comfort him. 

But the hurt was shaken off and he was back to his nonchalant demeanor, turning to Philippe and looking at his cards. 

“Does he always speak out of his arse like this, or is it just the wine?” The blonde whispered in the Prince’s ear and Philippe could not stifle a giggle he gave at the man’s boldness. 

“You shouldn’t speak about the King that way,” Philippe whispered back in a coy manner, averting his eyes and looking back upon the cards in his hand. 

“Ah, he speaks.” The man only leaned closer with every passing moment, Philippe’s skin burning up at the proximity of him. “Forgive me but it is only fair seeing how little he cares that you are his brother.”

“His brother is not the King.” Philippe quickly came to his defense but once more, he convinced no one yet this time, he couldn’t care less. 

“His brother is something much better.” The blonde whispered, causing Philippe to snap his head towards him, only to be met with a wink that, if he were standing, would cause his legs to give out. But sure enough, Louis had played his hand and was now waiting for his brother to continue the game. The stranger cleared his throat, snapping Philippe out of his trance to eye the cards. Monsieur pointed at one, silently asking the blonde but was met with a shake of the head that caused the gold curls to wriggle around and look like the softest locks in the world. “With which could you hinder his move this time before laying that one?”

Philippe thought for a moment, scanning carefully all his possible moves until he pointed at one and earned a satisfied nod from the man next to him. Sure enough, the two steps worked perfectly and Louis was at a loss, unsure of his next moves. 

“Which one gives your brother the advantage for now?” The blonde whispered so close, Monsieur thought his heart would beat out of his ribcage as his skin tingled with a deep-seated need to touch. Something about this man was comforting and Philippe couldn’t figure out what. When he pointed at a card, he shook his head. “That one would be a great loss for you. Which one do you need to get rid of?” The next one Philippe chose from the fan of cards was correct and earned him this man’s bright smile. Without a word, he laid it upon the table. 

It wasn’t long before Louis was starting to get frustrated which made Philippe uneasy but the thoughts were banished from his head when the next whisper would come and Monsieur began to get them correct on the first try. This stranger was pulling familiar moves that Philippe simply did not care enough to entertain but now, he wanted nothing more than to win, and he could not decide whether it was for his own ego or to impress the divine man sitting next to him.

It all came down to the last two cards. This was it. He could pick the card that would name him victorious or he could lay the one that, once more, would send him walking in shame from his brother’s victories. He looked up at the blonde beauty and was met with confused eyes as to the hesitation. 

“Come on. Win this.” He hissed, but Philippe’s eyes darted between his brother and this stranger, only for the message to be clearer than day. 

He tossed the losing card and felt the hand that rested on the small of his back slightly squeeze, and he did not have to look to know there was outrage on his face. 

Louis would never let him be- free of duty and tease- with this man if Philippe had won. He would take away something and what better to take away than the cause of such an outcome. He had to know more of this man and who he was. He chose the blonde stranger. 

Sure enough, Louis’ victory was rubbed in his face as the King was patted on the back and congratulated, satisfied sounds from surrounding men and women enough to frustrate the blonde who turned to Philippe, only to find the hint of a smile on his face as he watched his brother relish in his newfound confidence and his anger melted away. 

“You let him win.” He observed, questioning why the brother to the King would have to maintain such a charade as all the other courtiers. Philippe’s eyes found his and the Prince was, once again, winded by the sight before him, the man in the emerald green coat that looked at him so lovingly, he felt he would turn to mush under his gaze. 

“Would you like to take a walk?” Philippe asked and the man stood, reaching his hand out to the Prince that slithered his own into it. He helped him to his feet as Monsieur adjusted his skirts and turned to Louis, bowing before excusing himself from the table. 

The man slithered them out of the sea of courtiers that were praising the King and guided him out towards the double windows that led to the gardens. The night was chilly though it was summer and the stars twinkled around the crescent moon that lit up the sky. It smelled of wet grass and wine but the latter may have just been the taste of his lips that could not help but arch into a smile as he gazed at the man next to him who did not let go of his hand. He held a cane for seemingly no other purpose than fashion and Philippe noted that under such lighting, he looked more of a boy than a man, not older than the Prince himself.

“Why?” The blonde simply asked and Philippe knew well enough to what he was referring to, he averted his eyes.

“Because then the King would be angry.” He answered, trying to hide the look of disappointment from his face when his hand was let go of and they walked down the gravel road that led further and further from the palace, further from its light and the soft music that was still playing.

“What would he do? Throw a fit?” The blonde questioned which made Philippe smile at the recollection of all of Louis’ many fits. 

“He is already a handful to deal with when he is satisfied. I have no interest in dealing with him when his ego has been struck.” Philippe’s fingers curled together before his corset that he smoothed down with a hand.

“Is that why you choose to hide in the shadows?” The blonde blurted, immediately regretting his words at the look of hurt and outrage received from the Prince. 

“I do no such thing. I would hardly call this hiding in the shadows.” He gestured down at his attire, the man’s lips tugging at one side as he took in the sight of Monsieur with hungry eyes that delightfully bore into him.

“Because you do not wish to. But his Majesty…” He trailed off and Philippe’s heart danced at this stranger’s beauty. He was so graceful with his movements, the way he spoke, it baffled the Prince. “I had heard stories of the King’s brother, but to see it for yourself...” His eyes burned bright, glinting with the softest hint of venom. 

“I don’t care for your tone, Monsieur.” Philippe fought every ounce of need and looked away from him, maintaining his royal stance. “My choice of attire is none of your concern-” 

“Darling, you misunderstand me.” The blonde chuckled, stopping in his tracks and so did Philippe, turning towards him. “Frankly, I have never seen one so beautiful in my life. Why you choose to hide this beauty is beyond me.” He said as if he was complimenting the chef on a dessert rather than telling a Prince something he’d never quite heard the same way before. Philippe took a step closer, studying the young man’s eyes in an attempt to find mockery, perhaps sarcasm or disingenuity but nothing. He was simply smiling. 

“You think me beautiful?” Monsieur asked, failing to hide the surprise in his voice. 

“Utterly bewitching, my dear.” He reached forward and Philippe’s chest rose and fell at the brush of this man’s hand upon his cheeks. He was so tender and loving, almost as if he were admiring a diamond with a hint of a smile playing at his lips. 

“You’re saying that to win my favor,” The Prince muttered, moving away. 

“My dear, I do not need your favor.” The blonde laughed.

“Then why are you out here?” 

“Because I want to be with you?” He said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and the Prince didn’t know how to respond. A part of him urged Philippe to run- as one that addresses a Prince with such familiarity will ultimately mean trouble- but another part leaned into the man as if it was second nature to be close to him. 

He took steps forward and the blonde walked beside him again as they strolled down the path between well-kempt grasslands. 

“I do not know your name.” The Prince muttered. 

“Philippe,” He said, causing Monsieur to turn his head. 

“Yes?” But was only met with a breathy chuckle, the sound of angels.

“My name. It is Philippe.” The blonde repeated. The Prince tilted his head to the side, gazing at him inquisitively. 

“We share a name then.” He pointed out, the thought lacing his lips into a smile. “And who are you?” 

“Le Chevalier de Lorraine, your Highness.” He introduced. 

“Your father…” Philippe inquired, confused when the glint fell from his eyes, and his teeth grit though maintained the smile. 

“Count d’Harcourt, yes. And my brother, Count of Armagnac. He is well acquainted with your brother it seems.” The Chevalier said, seemingly eager to move away from the topic. 

“Yes. I heard him say, at one point, his brother would be joining us.” Philippe could not keep his eyes off of this angel, the way each curvature of his face was sculpted to perfection was driving him mad. 

“I arrived last night.” 

“Is this your first time at court?”

“No.” With a glint of mischief in his eyes, he looked at the Prince and the way his eyebrows knitted in confusion. “I was quite young. Barely ten, I believe.” 

It is then that Philippe realized, the memory coming back to him in flashes. It was brief, barely clear but he remembered the mop of blonde hair and the young child that had sat next to him that day in the gardens. He broke into a large grin at the recollection, the way the boy had sat next to him and looked up with the most intricate, big eyes. And the words he had told the Prince to console him after Louis’ cruelty had left him merely in tears. To this day, Philippe had never quite worked out why such simple words had struck him so deep. 

“I remember.” He huffed out a laugh. “I spoke to you of my brother and you said you preferred me.” The Chevalier nodded, a soft smile peaking and warming Philippe’s heart. “Is that still true?” He could not believe he would ask such a thing but the words spilled out as if it was almost impossible to lie or pretend when speaking to this man. 

“I helped you win at the cards table, did I not?” He said. 

“Well, I didn’t win-” 

“Let’s not get hung up on technicalities now.” They chuckled, hands brushing between them as they walked. His skin was so soft in the few moments he got to caress it against his own, it made Philippe want to reach out and take it. “You won.” He softly said.

“I…” Philippe shook his head, about to deny it when the Chevalier raised his eyebrows, a silent urge that entranced him. “Won.” He whispered.

“Congratulations, Your Highness.” Lorraine’s eyes grew more loving by the minute and Philippe thought himself lost in them.

“You risk the anger of a King. Why?” Philippe suspiciously squinted. “You do not care to be in his good graces?” 

“No, I care to be in your good graces.” He stated. “Why win the favor of a King when I can win that of the loveliest creature I have ever laid eyes on?” His words brought a tint of red to the Prince’s cheeks that he attempted to hide behind strings of hair. 

“You do not think I look like a common whore?” Philippe asked, his voice surprisingly shaky. Something about this man sent every thought and emotion flowing out of him and he did not know whether he should embrace it or run for the hills. 

“Oh, heaven’s no!” Philippe found no sarcasm in his outrage. “If every common whore looked like you, my dear, I’m afraid the Church would have to absolve the concept of marriage entirely.” He smiled as he heard Monsieur’s hearty giggle, his cheeks growing even darker. “Though, you know who does look like a common whore? Madame de L'Aigle. One cannot match silver sapphire earrings with a gold ruby necklace. And that fabric, dear God, it should be outlawed.” Philippe couldn’t help the laugh that ripped through him, biting his lip despite knowing he would smear the rouge. 

“Is wool really so bad?” He giggled.

“A crime against humanity, my dear.” The Chevalier said, watching Philippe shake his head. 

“I take it you do not like winter then?” 

“Is there a worse time of year? I do not think so.” Lorraine swiftly replied. 

“You do not like fireplaces and warm drinks?”

“Not particularly. I also do not like being suffocated under layers and layers of thick fabric. The more natural the better. Free of hindrance and such.”

“Then you must like the outdoors. It is where all the freedom is after all.” 

“Actually, no. I cannot stand mud. And the humidity ruins my hair.” 

“Why are you here with me then?” Philippe grins, looking at the blonde over his shoulder. 

“You make even mud worthwhile.” The Chevalier relishes the sound of Philippe’s laughter, as pure as a child’s. He almost seemed like one, short and youthful with skin glowing like diamonds.

“I am flattered, monsieur. And I agree. Summer has flowers.” 

“You like flowers?” The Chevalier observed. 

“When I was a child, I would ask my governess to make me flower crowns every day but I’d always end up crying when they’d die the next day.” 

“The governesses or the flowers?” He fought a smile but it erupted into giggles when Philippe playfully smacked his arm. 

“The flowers!” He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“And now? No more flower crowns?” Lorraine asked, only for Philippe to shrug.

“I am too old for it now.” His voice sounded like Louis’ more than his own and the Chevalier recognized it. So, he hurried forward and signaled for the intrigued little Prince to follow.

They had now made a roundabout and were walking back towards the palace where music seemed to have grown louder. They quietly walked through a dark path at the very end of the gardens, hidden by trees when Philippe had to duck under hanging vines. When he turned back to the blonde, he noticed the flower that the Chevalier had plucked, a thousand little white flowers clutching onto a single stem. He took it and slid it into Philippe’s hair, the black against the white of the petals giving him a youthful look as he giggled. 

“Is that a mignonette?” Philippe beamed, repositioning it in his hair so it would not fall off. 

“Yes. I saw them this morning, reminded me of you.” He admired the sight before him. “A little mignonette.” The Chevalier took his hand, causing the Prince’s heart to jump at the sudden contact but Lorraine gave him the softest reassuring smile that soothed his nerves. 

He picked another and slipped it in Philippe’s dark curls, and then another and another until his hair was filled with the petals as pale as his skin. The Prince giggled, lifting his eyes in an attempt to look at the Chevalier’s artwork but failing. 

“There. Mignonettes for my mignonette.” The Chevalier beamed as he slithered a last one in the pinned-up hair.

“Do I look beautiful?” Philippe twirled with grace that not even some women possessed, light as if he were dancing on air itself.

“Like a painting, my dear.” The Chevalier took Philippe’s hand and led him into another twirl, watching the beautiful man intently, full of adoration overflowing in his eyes.

Cicadas sang their song that swirled with the whooshing sounds of the fountain’s flowing water. The Chevalier did not let go of Monsieur’s hand, bringing him closer to the heat of his body that the Prince welcomed. He craved it, the close contact that felt more familiar than the touch of those he’d known for years. His heart beat faster and his mouth went dry when staring up at the blonde angel, majestic under the soft light that highlighted only one side of his face. 

“May I have this dance?” He asked, his face so close, Philippe felt his breath on his lips as he spoke. The Prince didn’t have it in him to refuse. He repositioned his hand in the Chevalier’s and slithered the other upon his shoulder, his breath hitching when he felt the blonde pull him closer by a powerful arm encircling his small, corseted waist. 

It was easy. Effortless even, to sway to the distant sounds of violins when so close to one so astounding. It took not an ounce of strain to let him lead the Prince into a dance, and his heart felt it would implode when he laid his head on the Chevalier’s welcoming chest only to hear his own beating even harder. It made Philippe smile. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Philippe whispered, feeling the Chevalier’s cheek rest against the top of his head. He noticed him shrug in the embrace as his thumb soothed circled at the back of the Prince’s hand.

“I don’t know.” He muttered. “Why is that such a surprise?” Now it was Philippe’s turn to shrug. 

“It’s just odd. No one is nice to me. Especially not without an ulterior motive or reason.” The Prince confessed words he had never before spoken to anyone, pouring out of himself emotion that had always just simmered right below the surface, ready to burst at any moment.

“You deserve better than that.” The Chevalier simply stated, his arms tightening around Philippe almost protectively. Monsieur shut his eyes and allowed the blonde to guide him into a soft waltz.

“Are you an angel?” He asked, feeling the vibrations of the other man’s chuckle, that heavenly sound once more having an effect on the Prince. 

“I am whatever you want me to be.” He whispered, pressing his soft lips against Philippe’s temples. It was like being carried away to a place where there were no expectations, no duty, no need for empty gestures and false formalities, only this- a truth much deeper of which his heart sang when the Chevalier brought him closer. 

Mine, Philippe wanted to say. Be mine. But when he raised his head and the blonde’s plump lips were situated so near his own, he was at a loss for words, his body tingling with the desire to reach for them but he did not have to, because the Chevalier inched forward, holding his breath until, at last, their lips met.

Suddenly, they were immortal, their lives locked forever in a kiss fueled by so much desire their bodies could not carry. Every moment lasted a lifetime and they could not fight soft smiles against each other that held purity even a nun would envy. His whole body was set on fire and every bit of skin came to life. Philippe’s heart drummed against his ribcage as he burned for more, the Chevalier seeming to have read his mind when he deepened the kiss and slipped his tongue past the Prince’s eager lips. It was hot and glorious and neither wanted to break away until it was utterly necessary. 

Lorraine backed until he was pressed against the wall, Philippe’s lips claiming him until they were both breathless and panting with little disregard of the many that could walk by at any moment. Their foreheads rested against each other as they caught their breaths unable to register what had just happened and how it felt like they’d been set ablaze by only a kiss. 

“I…” The Chevalier began.

“Shh…” Philippe pressed his thumb over his lips before replacing it with his lips, hungry and full of need that overtook him. He wasted no time and allowed the Chevalier to devour his mouth, pull him as close as two bodies could get, to kiss him into oblivion. 

“God, I’ve been waiting to do that since I saw you yesterday.” Lorraine murmured against his lips, not breaking the contact. 

“Yesterday?” Philippe was breathless. The Chevalier pulled away, panting as he licked his lips, tasting Monsieur on them. 

“I froze and held up the communion line.” He had Philippe laughing but it was cut short when he rolled them so it was the Prince’s back pressed against the wall and kissed him harder, their tongues finding each other past their lips. 

“Would you… would you stay with me tonight?” Philippe’s coy question, muffled by their hungry lips, made Lorraine smile and nod, only for Philippe to feed into another kiss that grew greedier by the second. “I want you so badly.” His hands tightened around the Chevalier’s overcoat to pull him as close as their clothes would allow. 

“Where to?” He rasped, his voice enough to cause Philippe’s legs to squeeze together at the ache. 

“My rooms.” Philippe pulled away and took his hand, bunching up the gown with one hand to make running easier but he was stopped when the Chevalier resisted Philippe’s pull, bringing the Prince flying into his hard chest. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” He ran his fingers through the messy strands of hair that fell loose down Philippe’s face and used his thumb to wipe away the smeared rouge. Philippe did the same to the blonde as his lips were just as red and swollen but he soon realized it may have been his natural color after the Prince’s assault of kisses and he loved it. He never wanted them another way. The Chevalier noticed his new obsession and giggled, sending the Prince’s heart flying. 

“W-we’re good.” He attempted to play it off but his eyes remained on the delightful flesh of his lips that sat right under the thinnest mustache that he could feel against his skin when he kissed him. He was once again, reminded of the feeling when Lorraine grabbed onto him by the waist, pulling him into another kiss, just as perfect as all the others. “My rooms.” Philippe managed to mutter against them but it was the Chevalier that worked up the courage to pull back and drag the Prince inside the ballroom again. 

Courtiers were up to no good, eating, drinking, gossiping as they would every other night. It was like every other night for all of them but as Philippe’s hand brushed against this blonde angels’, he could not help but feel his world turn upside down.

“Brother!” Philippe was startled and he shot around to find Louis, adjusting his cuffs, wearing a courtly smile meant for image and nothing else. It took a moment but he managed to stop staring at all the flowers in his brother’s hair. “You will not introduce me to your little friend?” He watched Philippe look between the two to find Lorraine just as clueless as he was. 

“Brother, this is Le Chevalier de Lorraine.” Philippe hated not being able to reach over and touch him, even just a caress, anything, really. 

“Ah! Prince étranger, it’s an honor.” Louis smiled. 

“The honor is all mine, your Majesty.” He dipped his head in a bow, Philippe’s gaze burning into the side of his face. 

“Your father spoke to me of your return to court.” The King mentioned but failed to notice the Chevalier stiffening and repositioning his shoulders with his head held high. “I hope the accommodations are to your liking?” 

“Indeed, Sire.” 

“And I hope you are being well entertained. I realize my brother’s company can become tedious.” Louis’ words struck Philippe, a cold bucket of ice water poured over his head to snap him back into reality. But when he glanced at the Chevalier before lowering his head, he looked just as taken aback by the King’s remark. 

“Not at all, he is all the entertainment I need.” But Louis did not look convinced. “There isn’t another I would rather keep me company,” Lorraine said, causing Philippe’s head to snap towards him with wide eyes before glancing at Louis to find him wearing the same courtly smile.

“Very well, I shall leave you to it then.” Much to Philippe’s relief, he backed down and strolled away, leaving the both of them to exhale with slumping shoulders. 

“Come.” The Chevalier successfully led Philippe out of the hall and into the dark corridors where he was able to press him against the wall and take his lips one more as the Prince giggled against them. “Don’t listen to him.” He mumbled between kisses. Such a simple command that one would think easier said than done but when such a man had his lips on his neck, his scent intoxicant and maddening, Philippe found it as easy as taking his next breath. 

“Rooms.” Philippe weakly reminded, still disappointed when the Chevalier pulled off of him. The Prince tried to remember where his chambers were, his thoughts muffled by the ache between his legs but he bunched up his skirt and took Lorraine’s hand, hurrying up the palace stairs to try and reach his quarters. 

Two large armed guards, twice both their sizes, stood at each side of the Prince’s chamber doors, slipping them open for the pair to rush in before shutting them back up. The Chevalier’s masterful lips took his and they kissed, Philippe’s self-control and all his fears draining away, leaving only the two of them, alone in the large rooms. He had dismissed the servants early, figured he’d want peace and quiet upon his return but this… this was far better.

“You’re wicked.” Philippe managed as Lorraine’s lips trailed to the Prince’s neck, an odd sensation he’d never felt before running through his body. 

“You’re exquisite.” The Chevalier murmured against his skin, kisses finding Philippe’s ear, earning a particularly interesting moan that had all of the Chevalier’s attention. “What’s this?” He smirked, running his mouth over his earlobe again, only to turn Monsieur putty in his hands. Lorraine chuckled, amused at the sudden newly discovered spot that Philippe didn’t even know he had, but here he was, melting as the Chevalier’s hot breath fanned his skin. Something snapped in the blonde at the soft sounds. He wanted to hear more, every delightful sound Philippe could make.

“Oh, my God, please.” He begged, arms tightening around the Chevalier’s neck. “Take me to bed.” The blonde did not waste any time picking Philippe up by wrapping his arms around his thighs and lifting, earning a yelp from the Prince who began to uncontrollably laugh as he was carried towards the bed chambers. “Not like this!” He giggled, wrapping his legs around the Chevalier’s waist as much as the heavy skirts would allow. He roared with laughter when the blonde snuggled his face in his neck, kissing and tickling, his mustache and tongue playing at his skin before tossing the Prince on the bed and ripping off his shoes to toss away. 

“Would you like to leave this on for now?” The Chevalier’s gruff voice had Philippe shivering as he discarded his overcoat and crawled on him, hands running over his corseted waist and ribbons at the delicate decolletage he pressed kisses onto. 

“You wouldn’t mind?” Philippe tried to catch his breath but the pair of lips exploring him were too proficient in their task to go unnoticed.

“You’re so beautiful.” His fingers curled into Philippe’s hair testing the waters, only to feel him leaning into the touch. He lightly tugged and it brought out the most lovely sound from his lips, pleading and pleasured and the Chevalier no longer knew self-control. “Dear God.” He had him crawl towards the pillows and laid him down to situate himself between his spread legs that the Chevalier took his time caressing as he hitched up the gown to his thighs to feel the stockings underneath with the tips of his fingers.

“Wait.” Philippe murmured against the Chevalier’s hungry lips that pulled away to look down at the brunette. The Prince took his time rolling them over and awkwardly creeping over the Chevalier’s awaiting body. Lorraine lifted his eyebrows as he watched Philippe struggle with the endless ruffles of his gown to get on top before robotically bending forward to kiss him. 

“What are you doing?” The Chevalier giggled, shaking his head at Philippe’s cheeks tinted. He crawled back so he was eye level with Lorraine’s crotch and he began to undo the buttons of his breeches. “Mignonette, what…” But Philippe didn’t listen. Just went on until they were fully open and he slithered a hand inside. “Darling, you don’t have t-” He was cut off by his own moans when the Prince’s hand grabbed onto his cock and let his tongue run over the underside for a first taste. The Chevalier twitched underneath his tongue, pulsating with need as he craved more, his skin heating up with the promise of more.

“It’s so… so big.” Philippe fumbled, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing hot when he realized what he’d just said. Lorraine couldn’t help chuckling as Philippe averted his eyes but leaned forward to place a kiss on the tip which did its job in shutting the Chevalier up. His head fell back, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take it if he watched Philippe look up at him through those dark, thick eyelashes but it was no use. His mind whirled with the beautiful image of him with a mouthful and he instinctively bucked up his hips to urge the Prince to take him in. 

Philippe gave in to his demands, sliding him into his mouth until he felt him slam the back of his throat with a guttural groan. His mouth fell open as the Prince took him to the hilt, driving Lorraine mad with need, having no idea how the Prince was able to do it without choking but the way his tongue swirled around him vanished all thoughts from his mind. 

“Oh, God! How-” He gasped when the Prince retreated and took him back in, bobbing his head back and forth until the Chevalier had his back arched and his eyes squeezed shut. His hands found Philippe’s hair and he held on, his hips swaying up to pump himself deeper and deeper in his mouth. He hated how quickly he began to feel the pool of heat swell, edging him closer to the end as Monsieur worked tirelessly between his legs. 

His lips were slick and dripping, a scandalous shade of red with cheeks hollowing as he picked up his pace until the Chevalier was gripping at his hair and slamming harder and harder into his throat, sure he would not last very long. 

With a flick of his tongue and a twist of his hand at the base, the Chevalier felt him do something, make him feel something no one had ever made him feel before. He yelped, looking down at Philippe in confusion, only to find his perfect lips stretched out around Lorraine, onto the next way to make the blonde scream. 

“How did you- Oh, God!” He squeezed his eyes shut and slammed in harder until, without warning, he felt his body spasm and shoot all he had into the Prince’s eager mouth. Heat rushed to his head until he was swimming with pleasure and Philippe swallowed up every last drop, pulling away with a pop before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

The Chevalier’s vision had gone blurry and his mind was muffled entirely when the cold air hit his spit-slick skin, a familiar sensation that had never felt so good. He lay lifeless, unable to move as Philippe crawled back up and settled at his side to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“That was unexpected.” The Chevalier breathlessly muttered, turning to look up at the Prince that couldn’t hide the hint of pride in his smile. “How are you so good at that?” He pushed himself up to rest back on his elbows as he watched Philippe lay on the pillow facing him with a shrug.

“I can do stuff too.” He smiled and the Chevalier’s heart tugged. He reached out and caressed his face, the feeling of it soft and supple underneath his fingertips and he didn’t want to let go. 

“I don’t doubt that.” Lorraine placed a peck on his nose. Philippe chuckled, showing off his pearly white teeth and scrunching his nose as he rubbed it against the Chevalier’s. “Just give me a moment to regain my strength and I’ll return the favor.”

“You don’t have to.” Philippe quickly said, his smile turning forced. The Chevalier furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re not tired yet?” 

“No…” He looked between the Prince’s eyes. “Should I be?” 

“I mean, I guess. I don’t know. I just thought… that you’d be tired.” He shrugged, attempting to play it off but the Chevalier turned to the side on one elbow and gazed down at him in confusion. 

“Why are you lying to me?” He raised an eyebrow, as Philippe’s mouth went dry and he sat up to try and get out of bed. The Chevalier didn’t let him, taking his wrist and turning him back to himself. “Mignonette, speak.” But Monsieur just looked up at him with apprehensive, bright eyes trying to find words, any words, to speak. 

“I’m just nervous.” He lied, settling next to him cross-legged. The Chevalier sat up with him, even more confused than before.

“Why’s that?” He took Philippe’s hand and traced his thumb over it in the softest manner. The Prince stared at their intertwined hands, not knowing how to react, especially when the Chevalier took the other one as well. “You’ve done it before, have you not?” Philippe bit his lip too hard, shuffling awkwardly. “Philippe…” The sound of his name at this blonde angel’s mouth was utterly delightful.

“I’ve done it before. I’ve just never had it done to me.” He avoided eye contact and instead kept his attention down.

“Well, that’s alright-” 

“No, you don’t understand.” Philippe murmured, trying to pull his hands away. 

“My dear, you’re not exactly helping on that front.” Lorraine joked but Philippe maintained his lack of eye contact. 

“It’s just that… there’s no point. It never, it never… goes anywhere.” He tried to explain, obviously failing. 

“What on earth are you talking about?” The Chevalier seemed to be getting even more confused by the moment. “Come here.” He repositioned himself and helped Philippe closer to sit between his legs. “Now, you’ve never been fucked before, is that why you’re nervous?” Lorraine asked point-blank but was only met with Philippe’s widened eyes, filled with dread. 

“Fucked?” He asked in disbelief. “I meant… you know, mouth. Wait, you want to fuck me?” He pulled away to look up at him, only confusing the Chevalier further. 

“I thought that’s what we were talking about.” 

“Well, I’ve done that before… twice.” His face seemed to crumble in what looked like a mix of pain and disgust at the memories of both times.

“You did not like it?” The Chevalier tilted his head to the side. Philippe shook his head. 

“It hurts.” He admitted, eyes falling back to his lap. “Why would anyone do something that hurts?” 

“It’s not supposed to, my dear.” Lorraine ran a hand over Philippe’s hair, taking out a couple of the golden pins that were already starting to loosen along with the mignonettes in his dark locks that he placed safely aside. 

“No?” 

“No. You’re supposed to enjoy it. If you don’t mind me asking, who…” He trailed off. 

“Jules was the first.” Philippe seemed to curl more into himself with every word he said, his cheeks tinted bright red and hot. “And then Armand.” 

“Jules… Mancini?” Philippe nodded. “And the Comte de Guiche?” Another nod. 

“Jules was nice. It hurt but he tried.” The Prince liked the feeling of the Chevalier’s hands, so tender on his scalp, combing through his hair with his fingers. He’d never been touched like that before. No one was even interested enough to ask about him at all.

“And the Comte?” At Lorraine’s question, Philippe stiffened, going silent and tension growing even thicker than before. 

“This was a bad idea.” He mumbled under his breath and made to turn away, to roll out of the bed again but the Chevalier held onto him even harder. 

“Wait, wait, wait. Mignonette. Look at me.” He tipped his chin up to find Philippe’s glistening eyes, unsure and full of dread. “I don’t know what’s happened before that you do not wish to discuss but I’d never hurt you. I hope you know that.” 

He felt silly for even saying such a thing but it was true. He didn’t know why he cared this way or why he even bothered but from the moment he laid eyes on Monsieur, there was a protective feeling that rushed over him, one that made him sure he would never let another soul hurt this Prince, especially not he himself. He’d known him for too little time to be so sure and yet he was and somehow, Philippe believed him. 

“It’s not only that…” He moved away, unsure of whether he should say anything at all but the concerned blue eyes that bore into him made it hard to lie. “I cannot,” He hesitated. “I’ve never really… you know…” Lorraine inched closer, urging him to continue. “Finished.” 

“W-what?” He blinked. 

“It must be broken.” Philippe swallowed, waiting for a reaction that would make him retreat in his shell once more. He was suddenly crushed as thoughts of the Chevalier leaving whirled in his mind. As a royal with his particular tendencies, he was well used to rejection but this one would truly sting and he did not even know why.

“What do you mean never? Not even on your own?” 

“I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something or, I don’t know, I just-” He fumbled with his dress that was making it hard to breathe in.

“Philippe, hush, my dear. Stop fidgeting.” The Chevalier reached for him and pulled him back onto the bed so their lips were merely touching as Philippe looked up at him with pleading eyes, wanting to beg him not to send him away, to beg him to continue caressing his hair, but all he would end up doing is waiting for him to speak. “If you let me, I would very much like to remedy that.” He whispered and waited for any sign of approval from the Prince. “Please?” A finger brushed over the Prince’s soft skin and his body eased. 

“Alright.” He whispered, scared yet trying not to let on. The Chevalier’s face lit up in a large smile, brighter than Philippe had had the honor of seeing up to then and he was winded by how this man somehow looked even more beautiful when beaming so bright. 

“Turn around, let me undo your laces.” He commanded and the Prince turned his back to the Chevalier whose fingers worked quickly to unlace all of them. He took his time removing each layer but distracted by the unmarked skin on the Prince’s shoulder, so pale and chaste, almost untouched by human hands. He was mesmerized as he reached his lips to peck minute kisses from the edge, to his neck, amused at the way Philippe tipped his head to make room for more. 

The Chevalier smiled against his skin and ran his tongue up to behind Philippe’s ear, filling the area with tender pecks that had Monsieur mush in his arms. 

He removed the corset and kicked off the large skirts, leaving the Prince in only a linen gown and stockings, looking like a porcelain doll that had the Chevalier speechless at his beauty. He reached for his lips and took them with softness and care Philippe had never been handled with before and it made his heart flutter in an odd manner. 

Lorraine laid him with care and looked down at the dark curls that sprawled over the pillow around his pale face. He placed another kiss on his reddened lips before removing his own waistcoat and breeches to crawl back atop him and trailing his kisses down to the Prince’s elongated neck. Philippe was lost in an intoxicating daze. He felt so good, the Chevalier’s lips so kind and forgiving, he felt his heart would burst. The soft brush of his flesh did not miss a single inch of Monsieur and by the time he was done, Philippe had lost himself in the warmth of tenderness. 

“You like that?” The Chevalier grinned as he came back up, settled between his legs. Philippe released a little hum of approval, enough to have Lorraine chuckling at how touch-starved he was. “You are very ticklish, did you know that?” Philippe shook his head. The Chevalier was dumbfounded, unable to comprehend the enigma that was this boy underneath him. “It’s like you’ve never been touched before.” He brushed a finger over the Prince’s nipple through the linen fabric, causing him to gasp and lean into the contact. 

“I don’t want anyone else to ever touch me again.” He tipped forward, silently requesting a kiss and it was granted to him, utterly breathtaking and more than he could ever ask for- for it was filled with a form of affection deep-rooted in a person that Philippe had craved for so long yet had never known possible. And he was now being touched and held and loved and it was a feeling so foreign, he’d never come across it before. 

“They won’t. I vow it.” The Chevalier ran his fingers down the linen fabric and helped Philippe wiggle free from its restraints so he was bare, every secret he held fully unveiled, and for the first time, he did not try to hide it. He was safe here. He felt it in the Chevalier’s smile, kinder than a thousand words could be, and he heard it in the steadiness of his breaths, grazing over him until he shivered in delight. “You’re exquisite, my darling.” Lorraine pressed a kiss on Philippe’s tinted cheeks. “Hold on.” 

In a split second, the moment was lost and the Chevalier took his warmth with him, leaving the Prince curled up in bed to slither underneath the comforter like a child scared of monsters. But when the Chevalier returned, he was no monster at all. He was every dream and everything good in the world and all Philippe could do was watch him hop back over with a small vial of oil.

A part of him dreaded it but another part had hope that perhaps this time it would not be so bad. Perhaps it would not hurt. The Chevalier was not the Comte. He wasn’t rough or brutal, he didn’t humiliate or hurt. Maybe this time the act itself wouldn’t have him in tears the whole way through.

Lorraine crawled back on the bed and proceeded to remove the stopper with his teeth for the scent of potent vanilla to fill the room and Philippe got the message. He rolled over and positioned himself on his hands and knees. 

“What are you doing?” The Chevalier fought a chuckle. “Turn around.” 

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows. 

“I want to look at you.” 

“But how…” He sat back down.

“Here, I’ll show you, hold this.” The Chevalier handed him the bottle. “Lay back.” Philippe did as he was told and the Chevalier grabbed a pillow to slip underneath his hips. “There we go.” He smiled at the Prince who was laying there, tense. “Open up.” With a slip of his hand, he spread Philippe’s legs wide open and got between them, reaching down to capture his lips and pour all his love into him. “Would you like to do the honors?” He glanced at the little bottle Philippe still held. 

“Alright.” He struggled for a moment but poured a few droplets on his fingertips before reaching between his legs to caress. 

“Well, no wonder it hurt.” The Chevalier huffed out a laugh and took the bottle to tip a generous amount of its contents onto his fingers. Philippe watched hungrily as Lorraine slicked himself in the scented oil until his skin was glistening, bright red and his cock was weeping to be touched again. The Prince was too lost in the sight and was caught off guard when the Chevalier’s fingers began to work the oil into the cleft of his ass and further in, earning a mewl from the begging Philippe that could not control his sounds. “There we go.” 

Heat rushed through his body and his mouth went dry, unsure of whether he liked the feeling at all. It wasn’t until the Chevalier slipped in a single finger that he threw his head back and a moan bubbled to the surface, a string of curses falling from his lips. At the same time, Lorraine’s other hand found the Prince’s cock between them and held onto it, running his thumb over the tip which had Philippe crying out in pleasure in mere seconds. 

“Philippe,” Monsieur whispered his own name and though it felt odd at first, he liked the sound of it. This is what it was like being touched by another that knows you so well, as one would know oneself. It was intimate and precious. 

Philippe spread his legs wider, feeling the finger slither in deeper. The Chevalier brought the Prince’s leg up to his shoulder where he let it rest and reached for a kiss at the nearest patch of skin he could find. By the time a second finger was inserted, Philippe was nothing but a mess of moans and soft begs, needing more of this newfound sensation. The Chevalier’s fingers were masterful in their twists, scissoring apart to spread him up until he was clutching at his wrist while his nails viciously dug into the Chevalier’s skin. 

“Please, just give me more.” He grabbed onto his cock and began to twist his hand over and over again until Lorraine carefully removed his fingers. 

“Ap, ap, ap. No touching yourself.” He shoo-ed Philippe’s hand off and lent over to replace it with his mouth, taking him fully in until he hit the back of his throat. Reinserting his fingers just as slowly as he had before, he felt Philippe arch his back beneath him and buck up into his mouth. The Chevalier allowed it, smirking as the Prince held onto every slight bit of pleasure he could get. He was insatiable and hungry for more, and the Chevalier was willing to comply. 

He pulled off his mouth, much to Philippe’s disappointment, and watched him fall back on the bed, his chest heaving and his hands unsteady. 

“Philippe,” The Prince called, his own name becoming more natural to speak. 

“I’m here, darling.” The Chevalier reached forward and brushed their lips together, lining himself up with the tight ring of muscles. Philippe gasped at the probing, looking down between them, but the Chevalier’s white shirt was still on and in the way, and though Philippe attempted to move it, it was no use. 

“Take it off.” He tugged at it, too weak to do anything else. Lorraine hesitated, his reluctance evident in his eyes but ultimately slipped it off to reveal the golden skin of his chest underneath. “Oh, good heavens.” Philippe reached up and with his hands on the Chevalier’s neck, began to kiss and suck at newly uncovered skin. Lorraine threw his head back as he ground his hips forward, relishing in the slight contact between them. “Please, I’m ready,” Philippe claimed his lips as the muscles on his thigh were beginning to burn at the straining position. 

When the Chevalier pulled back to have a better view of what sat between them, Philippe brought his other leg up as well, bracing himself for the Chevalier’s body. Lorraine stroked himself, slow and steady, groaning at the slight friction of their skins together. 

“Relax yourself, darling.” He placed a peck on his lips and gave him a soft smile that Philippe reciprocated. “Tell me if it hurts. I promise I’ll stop.” He was so beautiful when he smiled. It was all Philippe could think of, nothing else was worth running through his mind. Breaking the daze, the Chevalier bucked his hips forward and pressed himself against his entrance, slowly slipping past the initial resistance of his body as Philippe arched his back with a whimper, causing Lorraine to freak and pull out. “Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”

“No. It was,” Philippe blinked quickly, trying to focus his eyesight. “It was good.” He gazed up at the confused face of the blonde, looking at him with such concern and love. No one had ever cared whether they hurt him before, past lovers especially. They would take what was offered to the Prince’s extent but everything the Chevalier did suggested the opposite of anyone he’d ever known before. 

“Hold on, how about,” He pushed the comforter away and rolled over to lay next to Philippe. “Come here.” He patted his lap, watching a confused Philippe crawl over to get on top of him, fumbling until he was resting comfortably on his body’s warmth, straddling the Chevalier who took Monsieur’s lips in a sloppy kiss. “There. I am yours.” Philippe’s smile spread warmth through his chest as he held him close. 

He braced himself, breath catching in his throat, unsure of how to proceed. 

“Mine.” He grinned, repeating the words almost to see what they felt like against his lips, how it was to claim this man. He adored it, left breathless by how beautiful Lorraine was, a halo of golden curls spread upon the pillow, glimmering under candlelight as fire itself would.

He repositioned his body until he felt the hardness press against where he needed it and began by lowering himself, holding his breath as he started taking the Chevalier in. The initial stretch was painful, the Chevalier himself required time to get used to the tightness around his needy body but as Philippe lowered onto him, it became ecstasy. 

Monsieur’s whole body came to life, set on fire by the sheer feeling of being filled so well. He bit his lip to try and hold in the desperate sounds but it was useless. When the Chevalier couldn’t take it and brought his hips up, meeting him in the middle, it was as if he was intoxicated by the most powerful liquor rushing through his veins.

A moan ripped through him when, in a sudden jolt, his body experienced a spasm of pleasure he never knew possible and he halted in place, tears stinging in his eyes at the intensity. 

“What- What was that? It- what…” He tried to catch his breath as the Chevalier smiled through lids hooded with desire.

“Shh… that’s how it’s supposed to feel.” He reached for his lips and caught them, a hand threading at his hair to tug as the other worked its way down to his ass to guide down once more. Against his lips, he felt Philippe cry out as he thrust deeper. It felt so good, better than anything he’d ever thought possible and he fed it. 

He rose and fell from the Chevalier’s cock shamelessly, head thrown back, lost in the delightful pleasure that swirled through him with every hit of his sweet spot. It was glorious and he rode him like a horse until sweat coated his skin and his head spun, dizzy from the heat of the moment. He felt pleasure swell with every slam of the Chevalier’s hips, growing and turning into something much more dangerous but he kept on, driven solely by the pursuit of pleasure. The need was too strong, urging him closer to be let out and when he felt the heat go farther than it ever had before, his eyes widened and he gasped.

“W-what’s happening? Oh, my God, oh, my god!” His head fell back and his pace instinctively decreased.

“No, don’t stop!” The Chevalier grabbed onto his slowing hips and began to thrust up, eager to reach his own release as quickly as his weight allowed, the sounds of slapping skins and uncontrollable moans filling the room. The Prince was turning supple and malleable in his arms as he chased the moments he needed most, becoming nothing but a vessel for pleasure where nothing else mattered. Every muscle in his body came to life, his head spilling with burning hot dizziness that burned brighter with every violent thrust. All he needed was release and with a few, last, sloppy thrusts, the Prince was tipped over the edge, unwilling to hold back anything. 

His body writhed and he screamed, crying out in pure ecstasy as the Chevalier rode him through, using up his hole to find his own release that did not take long after the Prince deliciously tightened around him. His teeth dug into Monsieur’s shoulder as their bodies were rushed with flaming heat, passion taking the better of them as they kept at their assault on each other beyond the peaks of their release. 

Philippe spilled upon the Chevalier, boneless and what felt like for a moment, passed out. His vision blurred with tears that stung his eyes and his skin tingled, set ablaze with ripping pleasure more sensational than he’d ever experienced in his life. 

The Chevalier’s arms wrapped around him as Philippe’s face buried in his neck and his small body curled into a ball, trembling and aching and satisfied to the fullest extent. They were hot and sweaty and as they lay, merely lifeless, in a wrap of limbs, nothing was real anymore. The ground itself had withered away from underneath and Philippe felt he was floating, mind muffled to not allow a single word to find its way to the surface. 

The Chevalier fingers threaded in his hair, grazing from shoulders to the back of his neck to brush hair out of the way and let out the heat trapped underneath but Philippe jolted up, his body too sensitive to take any form of touching. He peeled his eyes open as he lay on the Chevalier’s chest only to find him gazing down with the most tender smile and caressing his face with the most benevolent touch. 

“How was that?” He grinned, but Philippe could not find words. He buried his face back into Lorraine’s neck as the blonde giggled, rolling them over to one side and pulling Philippe closer. 

The Prince found his eyes and admired him, this perfect human being that had just stumbled into his life tonight. He felt too lucky, unable to comprehend how any of this could be real. His hands began to wonder, down to the Chevalier’s hand and he brought it up, playing with each finger. 

It was odd the way they fit into each other, the way their fingers intertwined faultlessly, locking together, the way his face fit just right in the crook of the Chevalier’s neck. Or how, when he cupped his face it felt like this- this is what he was meant to do, his primary function. He traced his fingers over his skin and was baffled, unable to fathom how their bodies were so fully capable of holding each other, designed to perfection. He wrapped his arms around the Chevalier’s torso and pulled him into an embrace and it fit. It just fit. Submerged fully inside him, there was no better feeling, possibly because he was designed to take him in like so, sculpted together to perfection before being separated, made of the same block of marble. 

“Ma moitié,” Philippe whispered, the fan of his breath against the Chevalier’s ear making him shiver. “Thank you.” A coy smile tugged at his lips and Lorraine didn’t need to see it to know it was there. He brushed a kiss on his temples and watched his head rise for their eyes to meet.

“I hope that was to your liking, Your Royal Highness.” Lorraine teased, basking in the afterglow of such intensity. 

“Very much so, Your Highness.” Philippe grinned, failing to move from against the Chevalier’s larger body. “I had no idea it felt like that.” He tried to catch his breath.

“You see, my darling? Nothing is broken.” 

“Maybe you fixed it?” He gazed up with large, innocent dough eyes.

“Nothing was broken in the first place.” The Chevalier giggled. “Every part of you works perfectly.” He pressed their lips together and melted at Philippe’s kisses, so precious and coy yet thirsting at the same time. “Because you’re perfect.” Philippe’s cheeks tinted and he moved to hide away again. 

“No, I am far from perfect.” But the Chevalier rolled on top of him and shut him up with a kiss. 

“Nope, perfect.” He placed a kiss on his chest. “Perfect.” He dragged his lips to his stomach. “Perfect.” Up to his neck. “Perfect.” To each arm and each muscle. “Perfect, perfect, so perfect.” Crawled down to his legs as Philippe was a mess off giggled, tickled by each kiss. “Perfect.” He repeatedly whispered as he sent pecks from his ankle, to his calf and knee and thigh, marking every part as his own. “God, so perfect.” Back to his navel and lower. “And this… this is utterly perfect.” He began to press kisses against his length, amused at how quickly Philippe reacted to his attention. 

“Again, please. Again.” Monsieur pleaded, still not cleaned up from the first time. 

“Ahh, again?” The Chevalier smirked. “How shall I please you this time? So many possibilities.” He ran his tongue up and watched Philippe be driven mad again. “So many ways to give you pleasure.” 

“Like that, please!” He ran his fingers through the Chevalier’s hair, taking a moment to appreciate their softness, like nothing he’d ever felt before and he did not want to let go but the thoughts were whooshed from his mind when the Chevalier swallowed him whole. 

It was incredible. Lorraine was unforgiving, repeatedly taking him into his mouth until he was arching for a release that Philippe was driven to within seconds, unable to hold in a thing. His body was screaming, his skin sensitive and nothing was making sense anymore. The Chevalier swallowed up every last drop and even licked his fingers clean.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”

“Hush, darling, there’s nothing to apologize for.” The Chevalier wiped his lips and placed a kiss on Philippe’s forehead.

“It was so quick, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to stop it-” But he was shut up by a crash of the Chevalier glistening lips on his own. He kissed him into oblivion until the thoughts were successfully driven from Philippe’s mind.

“You taste amazing, you know that?” He kissed the brunette harder, slipping his tongue past his lips to enable Philippe a taste as he felt heat rush to his face. So often he got the urge to hide but with the Chevalier, all he wanted was to be seen, more with every kiss.

When Lorraine rolled over, they gazed at the ceiling, attempting to catch their breaths as their bodies still stung from the wind itself. It was blissful, even to just lay by each other like this in complete silence.

The Chevalier rolled out of bed with reluctance and left Philippe to enjoy his moments of peace. When he returned, he placed the wine and a bowl on the bedside table and chuckled when Philippe eagerly pulled him down to curl up in his body. The Chevalier complied, taking him to sit between his legs before he reached out and handed the Prince a glass of wine and situating the bowl of fruit near them. 

“Eat up.”

“Have I not eaten enough for a day?” Philippe made the Chevalier giggle and shake his head. “You are very filling.” 

“You barely touched your dinner.” Lorraine picked up a strawberry and held it to his lips for Philippe to reach out and take a bite. It took a moment but the words finally registered and he turned to look at him in confusion.

“You don’t know that.” He said, nibbling at the last of the strawberry. 

“Yes, I do. I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night.” The Chevalier plopped a grape in his own mouth. “And you didn’t eat at all.”

“Ah, so your intentions were to bed me all along.” Philippe also picked a grape and ate it up.

“Indeed. I succeeded, did I not?” He rested back against the pillows. Philippe’s eyes wandered, admiring his lover in all his glory, an air of eroticism yet chastity in the way he carried himself that painters and sculptures would do anything to possess in a muse. He reminded the Prince of paintings he’d seen of Apollo, ripe with youth and virility. 

“Quite thoroughly, might I add.” Philippe’s back pressed against his chest as he rested his head back on the Chevalier’s shoulder. 

“Well, one as fine as yourself deserves nothing less.” 

“Oh, stop it.” Philippe chuckled, going back to the bowl after taking a long gulp of wine. The Chevalier placed kisses over his shoulder blade, unable to keep off him for even a minute and Philippe adored it, relishing in the foreign attention. 

“Slow down. You’re going to choke.” The Chevalier laughed at Philippe’s speed when he sucked down fruit after fruit quicker than he’d ever seen. 

“I’m hungry.” He defended as the Chevalier raised a grape bunch and dangled it before him. Philippe wasted no time reaching to bite one and then another off the little branch and Lorraine adored the sight of his mouth so eager to take in.

“Then why didn’t you eat at dinner?” He chuckled, placing a kiss on his cheek from behind. 

“I don’t know. It’s hard to eat after a conversation with Louis.” Philippe scoffed, feeling a surge of pain through his chest when he recalled his words. The Chevalier went silent, not expecting the answer he got but the pain in Philippe’s voice was evident. He slithered his arms around his torso and placed his chin on Philippe’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, resting his head there. 

“It’s alright. I am used to his disapproval. It is only the few times he does get to me… it- it stings.” Philippe admitted, quickly realizing it was the first time he’d confessed such hurt to another living soul.

“What is he disapproving of?” The Chevalier asked as Philippe plopped a macaroon in his mouth. 

“Everything about me, pretty much. My inclinations, my gowns.” The Prince noticed the way Lorraine was swaying them back and forth and he smiled, getting used to the soft rock and the feel of his lips against his skin. 

“Do you like wearing them?” The Chevalier asked.

“They’re the only thing I like to wear.” He lowered his head, almost in shame.

“Then do not let him get to you. Wear them as often as you can. He is disapproving because he is afraid you will outshine him.” Lorraine spoke, voice as soft as velvet against his ear, and Philippe’s chest fluttered. 

“No, he isn’t.” He huffed a scoff. “He is the King, he does not know fear.”

“Is that what he has you thinking? He is only a man, darling, you know that better than anyone. So why let him intimidate you so? Mirrors cannot capture how beautiful you looked tonight, mignonette.” The Chevalier held him closer. He was so comfortable this way, fitting perfectly into this stranger’s embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest that kept him grounded in reality.

Philippe turned his head to find the Chevalier’s eyes, not a hint of sarcasm in them.

“I thought so.” He whispered under his breath.

“Then do not let him convince you otherwise.” Lorraine took his lips, both of them tasting of wine and strawberries, intoxicating and delightful. “But enough of your brother. I wish to drive him from your mind completely tonight.”

“Would you… would you do that thing again?” Philippe’s cheeks tinted as his eyes darted down, enough for the Chevalier to get the message. The kiss that followed held promises, ones that he fulfilled just as the Prince needed. 

He crawled on top and the moment he was inside him again, Philippe’s head spun and he was once again solely focused on the pursuit of release, taken by what his body wept for. They did it again and once it was over and they were sprawled out across the bed, again, until the Chevalier had ripped so many orgasms out of him, his body was trembling and his inside were aching, until his screams and moans were turned to broken whimpers and weak mewls, unable to hold himself together as every release felt just as euphoric as the last. 

They smelled of sex and oils, curled together repeatedly until they didn’t know whose limbs were whose, not that it mattered. To go without touching was to ache, as if this is what they were built for. The Chevalier claimed the Prince so thoroughly, his entire body was marked with his lovebites and scratches until every piece of him told the story of to whom it belonged. 

Philippe’s throat burned and so did his insides and yet all he wanted was more, their young bodies zealous and overflowing with vigor in their pursuit of each other. The Chevalier was willing, just as hungry for the delightful sounds Philippe made, loud and famished for more. 

By the end, he believed he may have just kissed every patch of Philippe’s skin and stretched him out so hard, he’d find it difficult to walk the next day. He’d heard so much about carnal pleasure, mostly from his brother or the many gossiping older boys at court but with Philippe, the act itself felt so much more natural than anyone he’d ever had in his life. This was different, a need beyond bodies and lust, it was something he felt every time he kissed Philippe, or just held him, touched him. 

The sun was beginning to peak from the horizon, flecks of sunlight drenching the land as it rose, finding the pair still together, naked as the day they were born, laying boneless and unable to move between the white sheets. Philippe was spread like a starfish across the bed as the Chevalier crawled over after managing to clean up their spent and plopped on the bed, on his stomach. The soft pillows against his face felt amazing to his sore muscles. He peeled his eyes open to find Philippe’s eyes shut, his chest still heaving and his porcelain skin coated with sweat. His cheeks were flushed red and his lips swollen red from kisses and sucks. 

He couldn’t help but smile as his heart fluttered, so full for this boy. He wanted to reach out and entangle more than just their legs but his body refused. With the thoughts swirling in his head, he drifted, giving way for the darkness to consume him into a slumber. 

He woke up what seemed like a few hours later, the sun peaking higher behind the blinds, to a touch tracing upon his back. At first, he thought nothing of it and even wanted to lean in for more as it was soft and tender. But when he realized, recalling the spot this finger was tracing over, he jolted up, slapping the away hand to find a scared Philippe looking at him with glistening eyes. 

He looked like he’d just awoken, eyes puffy with sleep and hair completely disheveled, divine under the warm light that peaked from outside. Concern was written on his face, even more so after Lorraine crawled back to the edge of the bed, further from the Prince. 

“Ma moitié,” He whispered, looking at the blonde full of fear. “What… what were those?” 

“Nothing. They’re just…” He was trying to come up with an excuse but failing. What reason could one come up with to make fresh welts on the back look good? He knew he should’ve kept the shirt on, but he simply didn’t think he’d fall asleep this way. “They’re nothing. Do not worry.” 

“Do not lie to me. Tell me who did this to you? I’ll have them tossed in the Bastille right this instant.” Philippe insisted, his tone growing darker and determined, nothing like the angelic little boy in his arms just a few moments ago and the Chevalier did not know how to respond to such an offer, stunned that Philippe was willing to do something like that for him. 

“That will not be necessary-” 

“Yes, it will be. Anyone who hurt you deserves to be punished for it.” He crawled up and sat on his knees. 

“He didn’t hurt me. I am well.” The Chevalier insisted, going to move away when Philippe grabbed onto his hand and pulled him in for a kiss. Lorraine melted, every sore muscle and aching welt fading away, paling in comparison to this. His lips were so plush and soft, careful with the way they worked, always so chaste. When he pulled away, the Chevalier felt Philippe’s hands on his chest and his forehead against his own. 

“He?” The Prince whispered.

“My father.” The Chevalier hesitantly confessed, allowing Philippe to lead him back down onto the sheets. He held the blonde with great care, just like he had done for the Prince, and pushed his hair away as he settled back on his stomach. Philippe curled next to him, higher on the pillows as he thread his fingers into the blonde curls that cascaded down the Chevalier’s golden skin. 

“Why?” Philippe softly asked, unable to believe one would do this to their own child. He’d never known his father, but surely he would’ve had the decency to not hurt him this way. 

“It doesn’t matter why. He just doesn’t like me very much-” 

“Philippe, why?” Monsieur’s hand stopped caressing, almost a punishment for not answering the question. 

“He usually does it when my… tendencies are present. He doesn’t want me to burn in hell but I believe he’s just scared for his own arse, scared I’ll drag him down with me. This is his way of fixing me.” The Chevalier averted his eyes, fearing the Prince’s judgment. “You’re lucky your mother allows it.” 

“Ma moitié.” Philippe reached his hand back to his hair and curled even closer, placing kisses on the Chevalier’s biceps as his arm was slithered underneath the pillow. “Dear God, how dare he?” Tears were starting to well in his eyes as he brushed his lips over the soft skin. “And this time? What were these for?” He reached out his hand to the red marks that were mostly hidden by hair and the Chevalier stiffened as Philippe’s tender fingertips traced each line.

“Same as usual. Nothing new.” His eyes gave him away. Philippe shook his head and asked again, watching the Chevalier debate whether he should say or not. “For you.” The Prince’s eyes widened in horror. “I told you I saw you yesterday. I was with him. He noticed who I was looking at and started to comment. He was saying… not so nice things about you and I… I argued with him.” He lowered his head, unable to meet Philippe’s welling tears. “He didn’t like that and…” The Chevalier sniffled, trying to remain strong for the Prince but it proved difficult. 

“You should not have done that!” He wrapped him closer, his arms embracing him as he rested their foreheads together. “I am used to all the mean gossip. You shouldn’t have stuck your neck out for me. You didn’t even know me.” He placed a kiss in his hair. 

“I don’t care. You didn’t deserve what he was saying.” 

“And you didn’t deserve this.” He gestured to the marks. 

“I told you, it’s happened before-” 

“It doesn’t matter because it will never happen again. He won’t lay another hand on you for as long as I live.” His arms protectively tightened around the Chevalier who smiled, his heart swelling with emotion. He’d never thought of their ages, but the Chevalier was taller and more experienced in seemingly everything so Philippe assumed it was he who was younger but as he held the blonde in his arms, he was nothing short of a young boy, just as battered and hurt as he was.

Philippe crawled on top of the Chevalier, his body resting on his back as he brushed away the hair to reveal the marks to their full extent. Philippe sucked in a breath, taking a moment to observe the pain his lover had to endure. Lorraine shuffled uncomfortably underneath but allowed him, for the first time in his life, not wanting to hide under a facade of confidence and whit. Tears stung his eye when the soft caress of Philippe’s lips came, pressing tender kisses on every patch of red he could find. The irony was not lost to him, the reason he’d gotten these welts in the first place now being the one to kiss them so tenderly, like wind brushing his skin. Nothing had ever been that close, barely even sunlight.

And just like that, everything his father had ever said flew out of his head, disintegrating into merely nothing. This wasn’t sin. Something so precious and pure could not be cause to drag someone to hell. Nothing that makes one feel this way was evil, nothing that made his heart feel it would burst with joy and overflowing emotion, nothing that healed such deep scars this way could be the devil’s work. 

This was heaven, it was home, and he never wanted to let it go. 

Philippe rested his head on the Chevalier’s as his arms encircled his torso as he placed a kiss on his cheek. Though, the position was short-lived when the Chevalier began to move underneath and turned around so they were chest to chest, wrapped up together in a cocoon of warmth. 

“You’re not who their gossip makes you out to be. You’re not that man.” His fingertips ran down the sides of his face, admiring the beauty before him. “Even you yourself don’t see it.” 

“It’s not nice, is it? Their gossip.” When the Chevalier didn’t answer, Philippe sighed, lowering his eyes. “I know what they say. I am no child.” 

“No. But you’re much more than you even see for yourself. So much more.” Philippe shook his head with a hint of a smile playing upon his lips as he laid his head down on the Chevalier’s chest, hearing the gentle rhythm of his beating heart. His eyes shut in contentment, lost in the soft sounds, so full of life. “I never want to be apart from you again. I do not care how hard being together is, nothing will be worse than our separation. Henceforth, every day that I do not touch you, taste you, feel you,” With a finger underneath his chin, he raised the Prince’s face for their eyes to meet. “Will be a day of death and mourning, and every moment I spend away from you, will be the mistake of my life.” Their lips brushed together like the leaves rustling against the wind, like wildflowers full of youth and life. This was it, this was their Eden, their beacon of light, their paradise away from Earth and as they held each other, their hearts about to burst, their smiles widened and their arms tightened around each other’s bodies. 

“Make love to me,” Philippe whispered against his lips, sending the Chevalier’s heart in a flutter.

He rolled them over and took his lips as he pressed himself between the Prince’s spread legs, earning a hum of delight. It took a bit of shuffling but he entered, their bodies taking each other in with ease after the long night activity. Philippe’s mouth fell open and the Chevalier took his time to kiss away at his lips, swallowing his soft moans as they came with every slow thrust. He buried himself deep into the Prince repeatedly in steady movements that made Philippe’s head spin. 

After pleasing each other all night, their bodies were exhausted and it was not easy to reach a tipping point but with the Chevalier between them, meeting the strokes of his hands in time with the thrusts of his hips, soon they were both spending and riding each other out until there was nothing left inside them, split apart over and over again until one last time, they collapsed together in a pile of limbs. 

They were wrapped together as they drifted to sleep, skin still tingling in the aftermath of their coupling and it was magnificent, a lovely feeling of simply being okay and knowing they would always be okay with the other by their side.

For the first time in his life, Philippe felt accepted, not merely tolerated, but truly accepted and loved unconditionally for who he was rather than the titles to his name. It was so easy to doubt the Chevalier but the Prince had faith in this blonde angel and all the ways he had filled his heart with adoration all night long. The Chevalier had never been handed so much trust before, so much power over one’s heart and soul this way and he cherished it. As he held the Prince, it was a promise of care and security, holding his beating heart for safekeeping, and for the first time in his life, he himself felt safe. 

They fit. They belonged together as the moon belonged to the stars and the stars belonged to the moon. When one shall fade to crescent, the stars in bright, loving eyes will bring them back to, once again, kiss the sky. 

How Philippe wanted to kiss him again and tell him how long he’s waited, how tedious it was before their paths crossed. Though they’d never known each other, they were never strangers, something in the familiarity of the other being too homely to be anything other than home itself. The poems scratched into his throat that no one had ever heard were sung freely, without constraint or condition, as sick or divine as it wanted to be for there was nothing but two here, beyond bodies and titles. Only two. Beings, creatures, souls.

The sun continued to rise in the horizon, finding them fast asleep in each other’s arms just as it would for decades to come. The first of a lifetime of sunrises and sunsets, the first light of hope to a future together because this was it. They were together and that meant they had found their light, found the stars and the divine itself. 

They found themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> NOW TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU LIKED ABOUT IT. IT'S PERFECT, RIGHT?  
> R I G H T ?


End file.
